


A Bit Of Soft (In A Broken Place)

by AniRay



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:13:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AniRay/pseuds/AniRay
Summary: It's supposed to be quick, easy. Just sex.But nothing is easy anymore. And nothing is just anything anymoreA peek at how Lizzie might have kept Tommy's heart from breaking in season 3.
Relationships: Tommy Shelby/Lizzie Stark
Comments: 6
Kudos: 45





	A Bit Of Soft (In A Broken Place)

**Author's Note:**

> From an ask I got on Tumblr.

“Hello?”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Meet me at Arrow House in an hour.” He didn’t wait for a response. The call was already ended. He’d gone back and forth about it- calling her. He’d tried to tell himself it didn’t matter. It was just Lizzie. But he’d still made the call from the upstairs hall. The one place he couldn’t turn and see Grace’s eyes on him. He could still feel her. Her perfume was still lingering in the air- like she’d just passed through to another room.

He couldn’t think. He couldn’t fucking _think_. He didn’t sleep or eat. Even Charlie… He could barely look at him. Too much of Grace and yet not enough, either. Perhaps that’s why he’d called Lizzie. Maybe he could feel something- just for a moment. Maybe he’d come and his body would force his mind to act. Or maybe he’d have Lizzie’s scent on him for a bit instead of his wife’s.

The thought didn’t sit well. Lizzie couldn’t replace Grace. There wasn’t enough of Lizzie to make up half of Grace. There wasn’t enough of any woman compared to his Grace. It was fact. He was at peace with it. When there was no peace anywhere else, that he could sink into. There’d be nothing for him without her. Just a cunt to fill when his head was too much. Then he’d die. And maybe, _maybe_ , God or Fate or something higher that he didn’t fucking believe in would show mercy. Maybe it’d let him see her one more time before he descended into hell.

Fuck, but this was hell. Living and breathing and moving when there’s no reason- when there’s nothing left inside. _There’s Charlie._ The thought made his bones heavier. His heart- cursed thing that it was- ached when he’d thought it wasn’t possible to hurt more. Even his own son wasn’t enough. Shit father that made him.

Made no sense- he couldn’t fucking think yet his mind was full of shit. Thoughts picked at him, mucked around where they’d no business. But _business_ he couldn’t focus on for the world. There was no plan. There was no next step. There was nothing. Just the mess of uselessness buzzing and scratching and clawing at his mind. His hand touched the gun at his side. One bullet would make things quiet. One bullet and he’d see Grace again- even for just a moment. One little ball of metal and powder and he’d have no thoughts and no need of them.

A knock came at the front door.

He could have looked over the banister, but he didn’t. It’d be Lizzie. He’d given instruction that no one else be allowed in. Had told Frances and Mary that morning to expect her and only her- all other visitors were to be sent away. He’d caught the sad look they’d shared- pity and sympathy that made him want to fucking gag or shoot something or bloody scream himself hoarse. But he’d just sent them off. And now one of them was letting Lizzie in.

Her heels clicked on the floor. She walked faster than Grace, but somehow her steps were always a bit hesitant when she came here. Grace hadn’t been hesitant anywhere. She’d been a fucking queen in every room she entered. And he’d gotten to take her home with him. He’d gotten to taste her lips and run his dirty hands over her perfect skin. He’d held a goddess in his arms.

He’d let that goddess die in his fucking arms.

“Tommy?” He lifted his head. Lizzie was half up the stairs. He hadn’t noticed. She was watching him like he’d seen her watch a john before agreeing to take him on. Like she was calculating the risk of getting closer. Like maybe food wasn’t worth a night with that particular man. Tommy didn’t even care that she was looking at him that way. She was right to. Because he wouldn’t be gentle with her- he couldn’t. Gentle was for Grace. And Grace was gone.

He nodded his head towards the room he’d been sleeping in. The one on the other side of the stairs from the master bedroom. Lizzie went, didn’t even raise a brow in question. For all her curiosity, Lizzie knew when to keep her questions to herself. It‘s why he hired her as his secretary. Why he knew she was the one to call for this. He followed her down the hall, pushing the door open so she could go in. He only paused for half a step before following her in.

She sat on the end of the bed and kicked her shoes off. Then she scooted back to the top of the bed, the mattress bouncing a bit as she moved. There was no seduction. There was no pretending. He could count on Lizzie- she’d not play games with him. He turned to check that the door he’d just closed was locked properly. And when he turned back, she had shrugged out of the top part of her dress and was leaned back against the pillows.

She was pretty, Lizzie. It was a rough kind of pretty. The kind that came from having to grow up with too little food and too much hard work. She was pretty like a wild horse- sturdy but still a bit soft inside. So when he looked at her his cock got hard. And the times he’d sunk into her, rode her hard, it’d been nice to not worry about breaking her. She could handle it and still be soft enough to run a hand through his hair or hum a song ‘til he slept.

He didn’t need her to hum tonight. No soft hands were required, either. He’d ride her hard and maybe he’d give her a glass of gin before he had his driver take her home. That settled, he unbuttoned his shirt. His eyes trailed up from her ankles to the fabric covering her thighs. He undid his trouser and let them fall. Her legs shifted until she was kneeling on the bed, her dress falling down to her knees. She crawled out of it, leaving just her slip. She’d stay in that. She always kept something on when they fucked. That was fine with Tommy.

Looking back he’d never know what changed. Looking back he’d always wonder what had happened to make his mind play the tricks it had. His eyes traveled up from her thighs to her satin covered stomach. Then higher to her full breasts, dusky pink tips just barely visible through the thin fabric that covered them. Higher still, his eyes went until they took in her throat and her lips and her nose.

There were blue eyes were green should have been.

He blinked. She was still there, Lizzie. But…she wasn’t- not fully. Blue and green mixed together. Dark hair was suddenly lighter- cut through with streaks of fucking gold. It was like they were fading into each other. Existing together, in the same space. Grace, fair and perfect. Lizzie, dark and good despite her flaws. But he couldn’t have Grace there. She couldn’t be there while he fucked Lizzie. He couldn’t fuck Lizzie with his dead wife’s eyes on him.

“Tommy?” It was Grace’s voice, but Lizzie’s lips moving. He stumbled back hitting the door hard. The knob dug into his back. But he welcomed the pain. It cleared his head- cleared the vison of his wife from his eyes. “Tom, what’s wrong?” It was Lizzie’s voice now, but… He swore he saw Grace’s lips moving, not Lizzie’s.

Then something caught his eye. A spot of red on Lizzie’s slip. His eyes dropped to it. He shook his head slowly, closed his eyes. But when he opened them it was still there. Blood. It was spreading, ruining the fabric of Lizzie’s slip, staining her pale skin. And still he could see the ghost of Grace- there was no blood on her, but her eyelids slid closed in pain. She was dying. They were both dying. Right in front of him, together.

His legs gave out. He crashed to the floor but his eyes stayed on Lizzie. Stayed on the blood spreading, her skin growing paler. He kept his eyes on Grace’s closed eyes and her perfectly unmarred body. “Don’t die,” someone said. The voice sounded rough and broken and afraid. It was full of fucking panic. A panic Tommy found himself swallowed by as well. “Please, Lizzie, you can’t- I can’t-“ It was a whisper, the voice. But it wasn’t because it was shouting, too. “Is it punishment, Grace? That I brought her here?” it had to be- no other explanation. No other reason to take Lizzie like this.

But then Lizzie was moving. Crawling along the bed quickly. He held up a hand to stop her, catch her. Because she’d only make the bleeding worse moving like that. She’d only die faster. But she brushed his hands away. She got onto the floor with him. Fuck, but he didn’t understand what was happening. She was dying, he couldn’t fix her. Did she have to come to him? Did she have to make him hold her as she died? Hadn’t he held enough dying souls? Weren’t his hands fucking stained and his soul fucking tarnished and his mind fucking broken enough?

But she didn’t crawl into his lap. No, her arms wrapped around him. She pressed her cool (not cold- still alive, yet) hand to his head. She guided his head to her chest so he could feel her heart and count each beat. She shh’ed him and rocked a bit. And he relaxed against her, sunk into the warmth that came from her. Warm meant alive. She was alive, Lizzie was. His eyes went back to the bed. She was still there, Grace. But her eyes were open. Still lifeless, that haze that comes with death making the blue a milky grey. She was bleeding now- where she’d been bleeding the night she died. Where Lizzie’d been bleeding a moment ago.

Or maybe it was always Grace’s blood.

He closed his eyes. He let Lizzie rock him. He let her warmth and her humming and the dips and rises of her voice lull him to sleep. Right there on the floor of the room he slept in that wasn’t his room. And she stayed. He knew she stayed. Because each time he woke from shovels and gunshots and Grace’s blood on his hands, Lizzie was there- fingers smoothing across his hair. And when the sun rose and he opened his eyes, Lizzie was there.

She didn’t ask any questions- he didn’t offer any explanations. Then they got up. They pulled on their clothes with backs aching- him from sleeping on the floor, her from sitting against the wall all night. He went to check in on Charlie, she headed down the steps. By the time he’d got down stairs, she had her coat and shoes on and was smoking one of his cigarettes.

“Tomorrow’s Monday. You coming to work?”

He shook his head. She nodded.

“Got something for me to do, then?”

He didn’t respond. She nodded.

Then she was gone.

He turned to go to his office- stopped.

Grace stared down at him from the portrait.

~*~

He calls her again the next week.

They fuck.

He drinks an entire bottle of whiskey after.

Lizzie hums and strokes his hair.

He falls asleep to the ease of her touch.

~*~

It becomes routine. He calls, Lizzie comes. They fuck. Rough and desperate- like they’re both trying to fuck away their demons. He leaves bruises on her hips. She leaves bite marks on his shoulders. Her cunt is swollen from his abuse. His back is bloody from hers. She always comes silently as if to make a sound would shatter the essence of what they’re doing. He calls out Grace’s name when he comes as if it will change the woman in his arms to the woman he wants to be holding.

But always- after- he falls asleep to Lizzie’s voice and Lizzie’s soft hands.

~*~

He’d called her into the office. She hadn’t come. She’d looked at him through the open door and then turned back to the papers at her desk. He’d almost been curious about the look on her face when she’d done it. He’d almost cared. And to punish her for the ‘almost’ he’d fucked her on his desk at home. He’d left red marks (they would turn to bruises) against her thighs from his desk. There were tears in her eyes when they’d finished. _‘Alright, Lizzie?’_ He’d gotten a watery smile and a slap to the face for his trouble. Then she’d pushed him into his chair and ridden him hard- so hard that he’d bruises from her teeth and his chair.

The feeling of being just a body to fuck was new to him that night, too.

And still, her hand was in his hair and she was humming when he sunk into sleep.

~*~

The nights they didn’t fuck, he didn’t sleep.

He’d drink himself into oblivion.

Only, his eyes were still open and his mind still buzzed.

Except…

Sometimes, if he was lucky, he’d remember the sound of her humming.

Sometimes, if he was drunk enough, it’d be enough to fall asleep to.

This memory, this little intangible bit of Lizzie.

~*~

She sat, glaring up at him.

She’d tossed the money back onto his desk. He wasn’t surprised at that. He was surprised that he was proud of her for it. Surprised he could feel something as normal as pride. The rest of his family had their eyes on him- on the two of them. But he didn’t care. They didn’t matter- not in that moment. In that moment only Lizzie mattered- only making her understand.

“Lizzie.” He’d fucked her in that chair she was sat in. “I want it known, that money was for you.” Oh, the way her eyes flashed with anger. The way the heat in them threatened to scorch him to his bones. It was a special kind of high- a high he wanted to chase for a while. “Because some nights…” _Most nights. Fucking every night._ “…it was you who stopped my heart from breaking.” And the nights it broke she’d been there too, picking up the pieces so they wouldn’t get lost. Holding on to them like they made something precious instead of a bloody, tangled, pulsing mess of pain and cruelty. “No one else.”

She’d not take the money- she wasn’t a whore anymore.

But it didn’t matter. He wasn’t paying her for the fucks. He was paying for the humming and the soft touch and the ease of her warmth. He was paying her for holding his pieces. He was paying her because it was the only way he had to show his gratitude- the only way he had to show that he saw her loyalty and her kindness. He was a broken man. And a broken man couldn’t be gentle, couldn’t be loving, couldn’t give what those he cared for deserved. But, broken man that he was, he could fucking give her this.

The anger faded from her eyes. They were almost soft. They were almost loving- if you looked past the doubt she always seemed to carry around him. Her head was still high. She still held herself with pride- a pride he’d watched her fight and claw and bleed for. And she’d be pissed in a little while. He knew she would. But right then, she was his Lizzie. She was the one person he knew he could count on. She was his peace in the middle of the war.

As long as he had her- her soft songs and her soothing touch and her fiery eyes and her kind soul…

As long as he had that, maybe he’d find a way to be alright.


End file.
